


i like my women like i like my money

by principessa



Series: all you have is an axe to grind [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Chasind Hawke, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Lesbian Character, Red Hawke, Red Iron (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 01:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/principessa/pseuds/principessa
Summary: 'Hawke wonders if she calls herself Elegant after her hands.'Hawke makes a friend. Set between the Prologue and Act 1.





	i like my women like i like my money

The thing about Elegant is that she does this for fun: she isn’t like Tomwise, a Darktown bottom feeder with nothing to his name but a knowledge of plants that kill and how to cultivate them; she isn’t like Hawke, an indentured thug with debts to pay and naught but a memory to call home. She lives in that comfortable middle-ground between upper-Lowtown and lower-Hightown, that easy upper-middle class lifestyle that Hawke is desperately reaching for - for herself, for her family. The thing about Elegant is that she’s a genius: she isn’t a mage - and Hawke has asked, Hawke would know - but she hasn’t let that stop her from unlocking the secrets of herbalism, her family’s apothecary is booming, she has even been allowed into the Gallows to participate in classes with the Tranquil that make the potions sold in the Circle’s courtyard. The thing about Elegant is that she wouldn’t have to work a day in her life, if she wanted: she’s become a figure in this Kirkwall underworld because she’s _bored_.

Hawke is infatuated from the first few times they meet. She doesn’t tolerate fools, and Elegant is far from one, even if she sometimes acts like an airhead, and she certainly looks like one with her fine silk clothes and always freshly-washed hair. It rankles, at first, the attraction: Elegant clucks her tongue at them when they meet, says _“Oh, you’re the Hawke sisters, then. I’ve heard of you, poor dears. I’m Elegant, and I’ll be supplying you during your, ah,_ adventures. _And since I’ve heard of your situation, well… if you need extra work, do let me know. I’m sure we can find something.”_ There’s little Hawke hates more than charity, even if she needs it, especially when she needs it, and Elegant’s pity stung almost more than her softness. But she’d given Bethany work as an assistant when Meeran allowed, and Hawke found herself in yet another debt.

It’s that string, that chain, that weight, that keeps her shy, keeps her shoulders hunched and soft when she wants to swagger, wants to lean on the counter of the potion shop and wink. She _has_ done this before, despite what Bethany thinks of her. She shoves her hands in her trouser pockets and sharpens her words, so that if she offends at least it’ll be written off as her being just another rude Fereldan, thankless and crass, instead of potentially risking their situation. If Hawke were to make a move and Elegant shut her doors to Hawke - shut her doors to _Bethany_ \- in reaction, they’d be in deep shit. So it’s a few months into their association when Elegant knocks the door to the apothecary shut when Hawke turns to leave, leans against it with her arms crossed under her breasts, that things come to a point.

“You watch me, Hawke,” says Elegant, lightly, as if she hasn’t just caged Hawke in, as if Hawke doesn’t feel those four words like a punch to the gut. She considers decking the woman and jumping out the window rather than answering. Not seriously. (Perhaps seriously.)

“What about it?” Hawke asks, and she finds herself mimicking Elegant’s posture, which the woman notices, and it seems to delight her, if the grin spreading across her face means anything.

“Are you planning on doing something about it, one of these days? Before the Maker returns to his people, perhaps?”

Hawke snorts. “He has nothing to do with it.” She can feel her ears heating up, and she’s afraid the black ink of her tattoos will make her flush more apparent. Her fears are proven true when Elegant reaches out and traces the mark of one with a single finger, the nails trimmed smooth and short and barely tickling her face. She has callouses from her work, but they’re still softer hands than Hawke has ever had or will ever have again. Mother would call them musician's fingers. Hawke wonders if she calls herself Elegant after her hands.

“Oh, good,” Elegant says, tracing over the bridge of her nose now, following the tattoo across the thin skin under her eyes. Hawke shivers, and hates herself for it, even if this isn’t a competition, isn’t a fight. “I’d hate to have to fight off Andraste for a moment of your time.”

Hawke scowls. Religion seems to seep into every aspect of life in Kirkwall, and she’d like to keep it separate from her sex life, at the very least - if this is indeed heading where she thinks it is.

“Keep their names out of your mouth,” she says, and reaches up to grab Elegant’s hand - her oh so elegant hand - in her own and drag it to her chest.

Elegant laughs. “Should I use yours, instead? Maria. Can I call you Maria?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Hawke says, and kisses her.

Elegant laughs when they part, loud and excited and a little mean, but that’s fine - Hawke can be mean, too, and they fit together: they’re competitive, eager, eager to please and eager to _be_ pleased. It’s been a while, for Hawke, which Elegant almost certainly picks up on, but she doesn’t do more than grin as she drags Hawke into the storeroom by the front of her coat.

“I don’t do strings,” Elegant says after in a warning voice, still pleasant and polite and the kind of tone Hawke’s mother wishes she would use, her smile far too self-satisfied.

“Do you think I do?” Hawke retorts as she looks for her jacket.

“Darling, I think you’re nothing _but_ strings.” It stings, because it’s true, and because Hawke doesn’t like being known. She doesn’t like sticking around after, and she especially wants to clear out now.

“You’re not family,” she responds, and leans over to flick Elegant on a fresh red bruise-mark on her collarbone instead of opening up, instead of examining that hurt.

“Oh, good,” Elegant’s laugh echoes throughout the shop. “Because I’m getting engaged soon, I should think, but he’s rather a bore, and I’d much rather do you in the meantime.”

And Hawke thinks - she doesn’t owe a debt, not outside of her own head, but Elegant is pretty and smart and sharp as her little paring knives, and this exchange may be mutual, but it sits easier on her shoulders all the same. “As long as this doesn’t get in the way of things,” she says with a shrug.

“I’m a businesswoman first and foremost, Hawke, you know this about me,” the woman laughs, and hops up to sit on her own countertop. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in the meantime. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Are they? Hawke supposes so. “Sure,” she says, and buckles her sword back on, lips twitching up into the bare bones of a smile.

Elegant rolls her eyes. “Alright then, off with you,” she says.

Hawke blows her a kiss on the way out, and Elegant pretends to catch it in her long pretty fingers and store it in a jar.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i really like lady elegant and frankly think she deserved more development and also she and f!hawke DEFINITELY hooked up. also, this series isn't dead.
> 
> my dragon age blog: [dragon age blog](http://greywardcns.tumblr.com/)  
> [maria's playlist on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/carobeaumelou/playlist/4ZpFfsbn1wrQohzrqhHGYT?si=lGVO48AWTmWnbS2iZJFiHw)  
> [pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.fr/beaumelou/da2-maria-hawke/) (warrior maria)


End file.
